


Under My Skin.

by littlebluecaboose



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Age Difference, Dom/sub Undertones, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-27
Updated: 2015-11-27
Packaged: 2018-05-03 14:16:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5294333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlebluecaboose/pseuds/littlebluecaboose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's not often that a First Recon sniper and a Veteran Ranger get a night to themselves, without anyone actively trying to kill them, much less a night like that where they've got access to a bed. They make the most of it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Under My Skin.

Grant stretches, pulling his helmet off and dropping it to the floor of the cheap hotel room he and Boone have found themselves in for the night. It’s not a particularly nice hotel, but it has running water and they won’t be sleeping on the floor, and that’s luxury enough for the two of them. They get stares, certainly, a ranger in full armor and a sniper at his heels, booking a room with one bed, but neither of them care, not anymore.  
Grant’s more or less untouchable, now, and he flaunts his relationship with Boone the same way he flaunts the armor- something he earned, something to be proud of. Not to mention the whole hero of Hoover Dam thing. Still, Boone likes it, the recognition and affection the older man seems to relish in giving him. Boone leans back on his elbows on the bed, watching as Grant pulls his hair out of the tight braid he’d put it in that morning, dark brown and gray mixed together, more gray now than when they’d first met.  
He’d be a liar if he said he didn’t like the way that Grant’s always armored up, the perfect icon of what the NCR could be, coat billowing out behind him if the wind was feeling like making him look even more dramatic. But Boone’d also be a liar if he said he didn’t relish in the fact that he’s the only one that gets Grant like this, the man underneath the armor, broad shoulders and dark skin, high cheekbones and strikingly green eyes- eyes that Boone only now realizes are fixed on him.  
Grant grins at him, and Boone can’t help but smile back. “Enjoying the show, there, huh? If you’re that into me just taking my helmet off, can’t wait to see what you do when I get outta this armor,” Grant says, crossing the room to kneel over Boone’s hips and kiss him, brief, gentle, but with the barest hint of a promise of things to come. “C’mon, lose the clothes, soldier boy.” Grant punctuates the words with a teasing tug at Boone’s waistband.  
He stands, then, shrugging out of his coat, and methodically ridding himself of the rest of his armor. Boone doesn’t bother to stand, which he regrets when he shifts too enthusiastically in the process of getting his pants off and manages to slam his head against the headboard. Grant stifles a snort as Boone swears under his breath at the offending piece of furniture. Now only down to his underwear, Boone turns to look at Grant, who seems to be intensely focused on that damn headboard.  
“Seems pretty sturdy,” he says, grabbing it with one hand and shaking it. It takes Boone a moment to register what he means by that, but Grant turns to him with a devious half-smile on his face, and he nods.  
“Yeah, guess it does,” Boone replies, and that’s all that needs to be said. 

Rope is generally useful enough that nobody questions why Grant would keep it in his bag; and it does get used for its intended purpose often enough, but tonight, he’s got different plans for it. Grant’s gentle as he pulls Boone’s arms over his head, tying his wrists to the headboard with a practiced efficiency. Boone tugs at them experimentally, then nods his affirmation that the knots are tight enough.   
Grant’s still got a grin playing across his lips when he turns from the rope to kiss Boone, one hand sliding along Boone’s abdomen to loosely grip his cock, already half hard just from the attention and the feel of rope around his wrists. Grant shifts his weight and gently spreads Boone’s thighs, kneeling between them and leaning over the younger man. Boone works with him as best he can, without the use of his hands, and ends up with his legs wrapped loosely around Grant’s waist. Grant’s hard too, Boone notes, and the pressure of Grant’s cock against his is pleasant, but teasing.  
Grant tilts his hips up and forwards when he leans up to kiss Boone, and Boone can’t help but moan against his mouth, the press of chapped, warm lips against his and the way their dicks line up, pressure and the hint of friction, the rough rub of rope against his wrists making him more than a little bit needy. Boone tries to hold still as Grant kisses him, but it’s tricky, with him licking into Boone’s mouth, hot and desperate and and good, and every time his hips shift their cocks rub against each other and it’s nothing but teasing friction, not enough, never enough.  
When Grant finally takes pity on Boone’s growing inability to breathe, sitting back and staring down at him, he’s reminded of part of why he does this. Boone is a very pretty picture like this, green eyes blown wide, lips red and slick from kissing, the sudden transition from the freckles and odd combination of sunburn and tan on his arms to the paleness of his torso, just waiting to be dotted with bruises and bites.   
“You, ah,”, Boone starts, cutting himself off when Grant drags his nails along Boone’s chest, pausing to toy with one nipple. “You going somewhere with this, or are you just gonna sit there?” Boone has to bite his lip to keep from shouting when Grant dips his head to gently bite his way along Boone’s collar and down his chest, dragging his tongue against the nipple not currently being played with by his calloused fingers.  
“Not in a patient mood tonight, I see,” Grant says, working his way further down Boone’s torso, biting and licking his way along, pausing to rub his thumb along the line of his hipbone. It’s a testament to how far gone Boone is that he doesn’t snort, or make some quietly sarcastic comment, too caught up in moaning softly.

Boone will deny until his death the pitiful whine he makes when Grant suddenly stands, crossing the room to rummage through his bags. He opts for sucking his own lower lip between his teeth, worrying it between his teeth in an attempt to keep from complaining or, when Grant sinks onto the bed again, outright begging. They’ve been busy, lately, never having time to even properly fuck, and Boone ought to be more concerned with what that means Grant will get up to; the man’s an insatiable tease, especially when it’s been a while.  
Boone can’t see past his own spread thighs to whatever it is that Grant’s up to, but when he suddenly wraps his hand around Boone’s cock, slicker than spit, he finds that, even knowing the answer to his unspoken question, it doesn’t really matter. The two of them have been fucking for long enough to know each others’ bodies, familiar territory, easier to manipulate, and Boone has to bite back a shout when Grant puts that knowledge to immediate, ruthless use. His grip is just that little bit tighter, jerking him that little bit rougher, faster, teasing with blunt fingernails, not enough to hurt but right on the edge of it, the way he knows Boone loves.  
Then he’s pulling his hand away and Boone can’t hold back the noise he makes as Grant spreads Boone’s legs even wider, shifting his hips for a better angle. Boone won’t beg to be fucked, trusts that Grant will give him what he needs, but Grant’s always too damn slow about it, and one of these days, Boone is going to demand what he wants.   
One of these days, but not today, not with Grant rubbing his index finger in little circles before pressing it inside Boone, earning a low groan from above him.  
“Stop- stop babying me, Grant, you know I’m not gonna break,” Boone manages to say, barely finishing before Grant’s back with a second finger, finding Boone’s prostate with the ease of a man who’s done it quite a few times before, pulling a shout from Boone before he manages to stop himself. Grant works a third finger inside him, teasing at stretched muscle with his thumb, working the fingers inside the younger man for longer than he really needs to, reaching his other hand up to loosely pump his cock, feeling him start to squirm, desperate for more, desperate for release. It’s ridiculously hot, and Grant tells Boone so as he pulls his hand loose and sets about slicking his own cock.  
Boone manages to make an annoyed face, even with his thighs spread wide and his cock leaking. “Yeah, I’m very pretty, now are you gonna fuck me or are you just gonna sit there?” His voice is strained, even with his slightly more coherent attempt at speech. The concept of words goes straight out the window as Grant presses inside, Boone arching against him, jaw tensing with the effort of keeping quiet. Grant had been pleasantly surprised with just how vocal his normally taciturn lover is in bed, even if it does cause problems when there’s people around to hear them.

Right now, though, Grant’s fairly certain that there’s nobody in the rooms adjacent to them, and if there was, well, they all saw the black armor. It’s a pretty effective gossip stopper, most of the time. “Come on, lemme hear you, you feel so good,” Grant moans against Boone’s neck, rolling his hips against him experimentally. That earns him a strangled grunt from Boone; when he does it again, Boone throws his head back and outright whines, high pitched and needy, hips snapping forward like he’s trying to get more of Grant inside him.   
Grant presses a kiss to the side of his neck, and starts to fuck him in earnest, the headboard creaking dangerously as Boone’s body shifts under him. Boone keeps as still as he can, but he twitches every time Grant brushes against his prostate, and Grant decides he ought to cut down on the teasing. Making Boone flush and squirm like a desperate whore is fun. Paying for breaking a headboard is not.   
Grant pauses for a moment, shifting his weight so that Boone’s legs are even further spread, Grant hunching over him. His hair falls past his face and if he leaned in just a little further, it’d be getting in Boone’s eyes. Grant resists the impulse; it’d probably get him punched as soon as Boone had control of his arms again. Instead, he just pauses for a moment to stare into his eyes, green against green.   
Then, the moment is gone, and Grant uses his new leverage to fuck Boone even harder than before, shifting his weight onto one arm so he can use the other to jack him off. Boone’s hips twitch, like he’s trying to keep them still but trying to buck against Grant anyway. It doesn’t take long for him to come, trying and failing to not shout Grant’s name. Grant follows soon after, spilling himself inside Boone with a quiet grunt.  
They sit like that for a few seconds, breathing heavily in the silence before Grant carefully extracts himself, helping Boone stretch his legs out before reaching up to undo the rope. Boone lets him go about it, doing his best to ignore the come cooling uncomfortably on his stomach, exhaustion settling heavily into all his limbs.  
“You alright?” he asks, rubbing his thumb over the red marks on one of Boone’s wrists. Boone doesn’t bother to open his eyes, just makes a vaguely affirmative noise. Grant pats his shoulder in a vaguely affectionate way before standing to get a wet washrag. When he returns, Boone makes very little effort to help, earning himself a quick jab to his side, right where he’s the most ticklish. There’s a dull, wet sound as the washrag is flung somewhere else in the room, and Grant flops onto the bed, flinging one arm over Boone’s half-asleep form.   
They sleep like that for a deservedly long time.


End file.
